


As the Forest Goes Dark

by shadow_lover



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Breathplay, Bruises, Canon Era, Dream Sex, Extra Treat, Father/Son Incest, Hand Jobs, M/M, ToT: Chocolate Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: He’s afraid to touch. He wants Niall so bad, he’s afraid he’ll bring him back.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> I saw your letter and couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy, and Happy Halloween!

In Ronan’s dreams, Niall is still taller than him. Not by much, just enough so when he presses Ronan back, he feels covered, sheltered, safe. _Danger, danger,_ the trees whisper, but all Ronan hears is, _Love, love, love_. His veins hum with need. He’s hard, cheeks hot, and Niall knows, and it’s okay. In his dreams, it’s okay.

He’s afraid to touch. He wants Niall so bad, he’s afraid he’ll bring him back.

Niall is not afraid. It isn’t because he’s a dream; it’s because he’s a dream of Niall, or he _is_ Niall, and that blinding smile burns all shadows away.

Niall shoves Ronan against a tree. The impact knocks him breathless. The rough bark gouges into his bare back. Ronan leans in so it digs in harder, as Niall gently maps over his heaving ribcage. Fingertips skate down his biceps, trace the scars along his forearm, kiss the pulse at his wrists. Trace his scars again.

“Place your hands against the tree,” Niall says. His smile never falters.

Ronan obeys gladly. Of course Niall knows what to do, will tell him what to do: Ronan needs to be told, and he dreams the father he needs. He presses his palms bark and the living magic stirs at his touch. As Niall leans forward to kiss his collarbone, thick vines creep up the tree trunk. They wind around his ankles and up his calves. They wind around his wrists and hold him fast against the tree.

“I miss you,” Ronan whispers, and Niall says, “Some nights I dreamed about you too.”

His hands are still, splayed out over Ronan’s ribs, holding him together so he can break apart. Ronan falls forward, buries his face into his father’s shoulder. He’s too burned up—dried-out—too broken to cry. Niall strokes his head, blunt fingers catching on the shell of his ear. He cups the back of Ronan’s neck, and his broad, callused hand is so warm.

“Enough of that, now.” Niall’s hand slips down to grasp the front of his throat. He shoves him up and back and _hard_ against the tree.

Ronan gasps. His body arches up like a bow pulled taut.

Niall’s laugh rises to mingle with the tree song; it’s the rich rumbling melody that keeps Ronan’s heart beating. It’s hard to breathe, Niall’s holding his throat so tight, and that’s good. Without air, there’s less to think, more to feel. Niall’s thigh slotting between his, vines tightening around his wrists, Niall’s other hand tickling down his chest, like hot water dripping down his skin.

And it’s raining. The sky opens above and pours over them. Ronan’s drowning in need and Niall’s giving to him. Rocking against him. He doesn’t kiss Ronan on the mouth. He never kisses Ronan on the mouth, but their cheeks press together, stubble scraping jaws. Niall’s ragged breath in his ear is louder than the rain, louder than the wind, louder than the trees, as his hand slips into Ronan’s jeans.

Ronan bucks into his father’s palm. His whimper is a thin desperate noise caught between Niall’s tightening fingers. The forest darkens: rain washes away the sun, his vision blurs and fractures at the edges, the vines tighten and swell. His skin stretches hot over his bones. The whole forest blossoms with the heat unfurling between dreamer and dream.

Niall’s hand tightens painfully, cutting off the last of his air. Ronan can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t see, and his release is like thunder, rolling through the forest. He jerks helplessly, and as the forest goes dark, Niall murmurs, “That’s my boy.”

Ronan wakes up, gasping, with bruises on his neck.


End file.
